Mirror Mirror on the Wall
by Hogwarts Online II
Summary: What do the other Harry Potter characters see when they gaze upon the Mirror of Erised?
1. Smiles in the Glass by Josephine

**Written for Hogwarts Online II's April Challenge**

**Title: Smiles in the Glass**

**Character: Ariana Dumbledore**

**House: Ravenclaw**

**Name: nargles lurk in the mistletoe/ Josephine**

They were closing in on her.

The evening sky was slowly turning black, the boys' figures nearly silhouettes against it.

She couldn't run. There was no way to hide. "I didn't do anything!" she pleaded. A lie, but a lie for her life. She knew exactly what she had done, but she couldn't tell them, so they continued advancing. She was surrounded.

She screamed for help, but to no avail. The oldest one gave a gesture, and with that they lunged.

Ariana bolted awake, her heart pounding in her chest. _Deep breaths_, she told herself. But deep breaths couldn't help her, only the mirror could. She'd just witnessed _the Accident_ yet again.

_The Accident_ was what her family called the tragic series of events that had occurred eight years before, when three Muggle boys had caught her practicing magic. They asked how she did it, and when she couldn't answer them, they attacked her. The violent attack had rendered her magical abilities uncontrollable. Her father, in his fury, had killed the Muggle boys, an act that got him shipped off to Azkaban.

With one stupid action from those _muggles_, her life had been ruined; her power distorted beyond use, her father taken from her.

She hated those boys.

Eight years later, with Father imprisoned and Mother dead, she was left in her brothers' care, "care" being a loose definition. They hardly cared about anything. Aberforth cared about school; Albus cared about power. That was basically all. The mirror took better care of her than they did.

The mirror was a most peculiar artifact. It didn't show her reflection: it showed a glimpse of her life as it could have been. _Should _have been. It had been hidden away in the basement for years. Ariana knew she wasn't supposed to go down there, as was her parents' ruling, but since they were gone, and Albus didn't take any interest in rules, there was no one but Aberfoth to tell her not to. Hiding things from Aberforth was easy; he was completely oblivious.

Her brother couldn't keep her away even if he tried. Standing in front of that mirror, she felt whole. Ever since _the Accident,_ it was the only place she did.

She stared into the looking glass, and an image slowly came into focus. She saw herself standing there, wand in hand, a gentle glow emitting from the end of her wand. Her magic had never produced anything so controlled.

Her parents stood on either side of her. Kendra, alive and smiling brightly, happier than Ariana had ever seen her in life, her hand resting on her daughter's left shoulder. Percival, clean and healthy, wearing his finest coast instead of rusted shackles.

Kendra ran her right hand though Ariana's dirty blonde hair lovingly. She'd been told her father's hair had been the same color when he was a young man. Her mother's was much darker.

Ariana smiled. The faintest ghost of a smile, but a smile nonetheless.

Then she heard the voices.

They were screaming at the top of their lungs, shouting Latin words at each other, words like _stupefy _and _expelliarmus_. She recognized them as spells.

Heart pounding, she ran out the door into the yard, where Albus, Aberforth, and Gellert, that awful boy Gellert, stood in a circle. Beams of light ricocheted across the lawn. Their faces were drawn into scowls.

"_Petrificus totalus!_"

"No! NO! Stop!" Ariana pleaded.

"_Locomotor mortis!"_

She couldn't take it anymore.

"_Sectumsempra!"_

She rushed into the center of the circle, determined to make peace.

"_Avada Kedavra!"_

Ariana's body hit the ground.

When she opened her eyes again, Kendra really was smiling at her.

Albus had found the mirror.

He stared into its glassy surface, and his sister stared back. The sister he had killed.

_No_. He hadn't killed her. _Gellert _had. It was Gellert's fault the duel ever began. It was Gellert whose spell had likely hit his sister, although they couldn't be sure exactly whose it was. They didn't want to know whose it was.

And from this state of unknowing sprung forth a circle of blame, and while Albus pointed the blame at Gellert, Gellert redirected it toward Aberforth for interrupting them, and Aberforth claimed the fault was Albus's, something he would never let his brother forget.

Albus clutched at his nose as another burst of pain shot through it, the reminder of his accused crime.

_And thus completes the circle_, he thought bitterly.

The mirror was too painful. He couldn't let it stay in the house. The boy removed a wand from the folds of his robe and pointed it towards Ariana's image.

"_Reducio_," Albus whispered. The glass shrunk many times in size, its dimensions reaching the approximate equivalent of those of a letter envelope. He scooped it up and stuck it in his bag.

It would be a perfect addition to the Hogwarts décor.


	2. The Prince of Denial by Caveat Lector 52

**Title:** The Price of Denial.

**Character:** Rose Weasley

**House:** Hufflepuff

**Name:** Caveat Lector 52/Kayla

**XXX**

"So guess what?"

Rose only briefly glanced up from her book as Lily plopped into the chair next to hers. "James's running through the halls in the tutu stuffing green beans up his nose?"

Lily did a poor job stifling her giggles. Rose shushed her. It was Sunday, and even though the library was empty she wouldn't put it passed Madam Price to throw them out for "disturbing the peace."

"Try again," her cousin prompted in a sing-song voice, playing with a lock of her long, silk red hair. Rose tried to mask her exasperation. She had an essay due in Ancient Runes tomorrow—one she'd put off all week—and all she wanted was a few, uninterrupted hours of study time.

'_No such luck now,'_ she though, setting her book aside and tucking in for the long hall. Lily was in a chatty mood (it usually happened when she was excited) and wouldn't stop pestering until Rose listened to every little thing she had to say. "Hugo finally mastered the wonky-faint?"

"Wronski feint. And nope, not that. I'll give you a hint: it's something to do with a friend of yours."

Rose felt her heart skip a beat. Lily couldn't possible mean . . .

"Something about Scorpius?" she asked quietly, trying to keep her tone casual.

"Yes!" Lily laughed. "He asked me out! Isn't that _fantastic_? We're—hey, we're you going?"

"I just remembered, there's something I've gotta do," she apologized, gathering her papers, books, and quills, shoving them unceremoniously in her bag. She left the room at a brisk walk, heading in no particular direction, just knowing she _had_ to keep moving. Her shoes made sharp _tap-tap-taps_ on the rough stone floor as she turned random corners and jogged up stairs. She showed no outside emotion, but inside her mind was in turmoil.

She thought back to the first time she met Scorpius, in the very same library she'd just left Lily in. It was three months into their first year, and she was perusing the shelves, searching for a specific Charms text. Just as she found it, in a dusty back alcove, someone came up from behind and snatched it.

Rose rounded on the newcomer, the reproach dying in her throat the moment she saw who it was. She knew who he was of course, hard to mistake that pointed face, platinum blond hair, and storm cloud eyes. They stood there for several _long _seconds, staring at each other, unsure of what to do. Finally, Rose spoke.

"I need that," she indicated the book in his hands.

"Me too," he said matter-of-factly.

They lapsed back into silence, neither willing to back down. In her mind, Rose was going over every single thing she'd heard about their fathers' antagonistic relationship in their school days. She couldn't help but wonder, would history repeat itself?

But then Scorpius smiled. It wasn't a big, cherry grin or a smug smirk, but a tiny, almost sheepish half smile that changed his entire countenance of the batter.

"We could . . . share?" he suggested tentatively.

Rose was taken aback. She'd been fully prepared for a dispute, and here he was being . . . _nice_. Realizing he was waiting for a reply; she shrugged, like it made no difference to her. "Yeah, sure. I don't mind."

It was—as they say—the beginning of a beautiful friendship. Without planning to, they started meeting in the library; first once or twice a week, then almost every day. While originally their conversations stayed strictly about homework assignments and the like, it soon branched out to other subjects. Rose was surprised by how much they actually had in common. Both loved history, hated transfiguration, and had a passion for debating magical theory. But what really drew them together, more than anything else, was a joint fear of always living in their parents' shadows.

"I'm so sick of people treating me like a future Death Eater!" he'd vented one chilly March afternoon during their fourth year. They were down by the lake, throwing bits of leftover fish sticks into the water, vainly attempting to attract the giant squid. "When have I _ever _shown one _ounce_ of bias towards Muggleborns, huh?"

"Not once,' she replied. He would've gone on regardless, but she wanted to show she was actively listening.

"_Not once_," he nodded with empathies. "But does that matter? No, of course not. I'm a Malfoy, so _obviously_ I must be prejudice. Hypocrites! All of them!"

He threw a rock as hard as he could; it landed in the water with a large splash, scattering the multitude of fish gathered there, attracted by the morsels of food floating on the surface.

Without saying a word, the redhead reached over and gently squeezed the blond's hand. He shot her a look a pure gratitude—and in the instant, something in Rose changed forever. An _indescribable_ feeling welled up inside her, from the tips of her toes to the ends of her hair. Down her arm to where their fingers were still entwined, the warmth of his skin a stark contrast to the cool air. She never wanted to let go, and that thought—those feelings—was so new and intense and _frightening_ that Rose immediately shoved it away.

"Rose, I—" Scorpius began, his voice softer than she'd ever heard.

"Come on," she interrupted, jumping to her feet. "Last one to the castle's a rotten egg!"

She ran, pretending not to notice the hurt written all over her best friend's face—

Rose stopped. She was out of breath, and for some reason her eyes were beginning to sting. Using the back of her hand, the girl repeated rubbed them trying to easy the irritation. It did no good, and now they were watering as well. Dismissing it as allergies, she replaced her glasses, and for the first time noticed the enormous moving tapestry just a few feet away.

'_That's Barnabas the Barmy,'_ she realized, blinking. Slowly, she turned. To the unknowing eye, it was just a blank expanse of wall, completely ordinary. Rose, however, knew better. This wouldn't be her first venture into the hidden room; she often used it as privet getaway, a quiet place to study when even the library was overcrowded.

'_I need a place to think,'_ she thought, pacing back and forth three times. Like all the times before, the previously empty space was now occupied by a simple wooden door with a rusty brass knob. However, instead of the old-fashioned study she'd been expecting, Rose was greeted by an unusual sight. It was the largest room she'd ever seen. No, _large _was too small a word. It was more than enormous, than gargantuan. It went on for miles and every square inch was piles with stuff.

"The room of hidden things!" she gasped, stepping through the entry way. She was so amazed she didn't even notice the door closing softly behind her, nor that she was talking to herself. "But Mum said it was destroyed. Did it rebuild itself? Or is this one different? And how'd I end up here anyway?"

The last question was the easiest to solve, and, she realized with embarrassment, partly her own fault: she'd asked for a place to _think_, not _study_, though why the room decided to interpret it this was anyone's guess.

Natural curiosity taking over, Rose venture further and further into the chamber, pausing every so often to examine an interesting trinket or ancient tome. "Some of this stuff must be hundreds—maybe even _thousands_—years old!" she theorized. "I've got tell Scorpius—"There it was again: that funny feeling in her chest; that horrible, dull ache. She suddenly found it difficult to breath.

Blaming it on the dust (or maybe the item in her hand was actually cured?) she'd just decided to leave when a flash of gold caught her eye, along with the apparent nonsense phrase _cafru oyt on wohs_i.

"It can't be," she whispered, awe struck. Clambering over a mound of mind-blowingly ugly hats, she approached from the side with cautious. Taking hold of a stained white skeet, she gently tugged it the rest of the way off. It fluttered to the floor, revealing a tall mirror in a golden frame. Now she could properly read the entire phrase carved along the top, though it still sounded like complete and utter gibberish: Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.

"I show not your face . . . but your heart's desire," she read backwards, voice growing louder with each word as her excitement mounted. The Mirror of Erised, one of the most powerful magic artifacts, was right in front of her. She ran a finger over the casing, finding it surprisingly warm. She was far enough to the side that she couldn't see her reflection, and for a fleeting moment wasn't sure she wanted to. What if the deepest desire of her heart turned out to be . . . stupid, bland, or any number of awful things? But the temptation was too great; before she had a chance to change her mind, she took a deep breath, and moved to stand directly in front of the mirror.

What she saw shocked her so much that all she could do was stand there, gaping like a fish, for several minutes. It was her, only it wasn't. Instead of being a short, flat-chested teenager with thick glasses, frizzy hair, and pimples, The Rose in the mirror was tall and shapely, with a clear complexion and dazzling blue eyes not hidden behind plastic frames. Her gleaming hair fell in perfectly styled curls down her back. Yet it wasn't the appearance that struck Rose dumb, but who the other-Rose was standing with: Scorpius Malfoy.

His arms were wrapped around her waist, holding her close enough to whisper sweet nothing in her ears. The other-Rose smiled up at him, a pretty blush staining her cheeks. He returned it with that teasing lopsided smirk Rose secretly loved so much. She continued to watch, glued to the spot, as the girl in the mirror reached up, brushing a lock of the boy's platinum-blonde hair away from his cool gray eyes. Looping her arms around his neck, she leaned in, ruby red lips just inches from his—

"No," Rose—the real one—looked away. This couldn't . . . this couldn't be the deepest, most desperate desire of her heart. She peeked up, and the image was still there. But now it was ten times worse, because now the other-Rose and Scorpius were actually kissing—and in that instant, Rose was finally forced to face a truth she'd been denying for over a year.

She loved Scorpius. She wanted to hold and kiss him, wanted to feel his warm breath tickle her ear as he whisper vows of undying devotion. She wanted . . . she wanted . . . she couldn't have what she wanted. The realization hit her like a blow to the face. Maybe if she'd acted sooner, hadn't hid her feelings due to fear and uncertainty. Maybe if she'd been honest with herself for once in her life, there'd still be a chance!

But as it stood now?

As it stood now, Scorpius was dating Lily. Lily was practically her sister, and she cared for the younger girl far too much to ruin her budding relationship for her own selfish desirer.

Biting back a sob, Rose blindly made her way back to the entrance. She would never see the Mirror of Erised again, nor the Room of Hidden Things. But even as she made her exit and strode down the hall, Rose knew she'd never forget what she saw. It would invade her daydreams, haunt her nightmares. A constant reminder of what she could never have.

And she had no one to blame but herself.


	3. Magic 8-Ball by Slytherin Head

Title: Magic 8-Ball

Character: Draco Malfoy

Name: Slytherin Head (Monse)

_Disclaimer- I don't own it and never will. All characters belong to JK Rowling and her alone, cause she's just that awesome. _

_A/N- A special thanks for my beta CleopatraisMyName!_

He needed a quiet place to gather his thoughts. There was just too much going on for him to be able to think clearly. With Greg and Vincent constantly hovering around him trying to find out what his plans were- there was nowhere for him to go. The Room of Requirements was the only place he could get away from them; they wouldn't be able to enter the room unless he allowed it. It was the perfect place to hide, as Potter and his group proved last year. Potter had never thought to ask the room to keep anyone away from getting inside, he just asked for a place that could be used to practice spells. Perhaps, if he had asked the room to hide itself, then Umbridge would have never caught them.

The Room of Requirements truly was an impressive show of magic. It furthered proved just how much magic there really was inside of Hogwarts. But since no one ever took the time to figure out its secrets no one really knew how incredible it was. He did though; he knew just how amazing the room was. There were so many secrets inside of it. The room he was currently using had been used by many others before him to hide things. He guessed that because he was trying to hide himself from his friends the room decided to show him that room. So many things hidden inside of it, and it was a miracle that some of the creatures were still alive. He didn't touch them though; if he didn't bother them then they wouldn't bother him either. He'd learned his lesson well from the last time he was disrespectful to a creature.

As he looked around the room and it's hidden treasure, he truly felt hidden from the world. No one would be able to find him until he chose to reveal himself. Which if he was honest with himself, wasn't going to be any time soon. He didn't feel like working on his secret project, he didn't want to think about what his task was. All he felt like doing was to go exploring.

Walking through the maze he wondered how much treasure the room could store and how long it would be there. Would it all still be here by the time he had a son and it was time for him to attend Hogwarts? It was a silly thing to wonder considering that he wasn't even sure that he would live through the war- let alone this year. He was trying his best not to think about the future, because right now, there didn't seem to be one waiting for him and his family.

His eyes caught sight of a dark orb sitting on top of a lumpy looking sofa. Picking it up, he saw the number 8 drawn on it and a small window on the other side. There was dark blue liquid inside it and when he shook it, a message appeared on a small triangle. He tried recalling what the Muggle-borns called it, he'd seen some of them carrying one, intent on trying to fool Trelawney that it was true fortune teller that the Muggles used. Somehow the crazy bat always fell for it, until someone took pity on her and told her that it wasn't a real fortune teller. It had been amusing to watch her lose her mind over such a toy.

Smirking, he shook the orb and asked his question. "Will I... Will I accomplish my task?"

Holding the orb as steady as possible, he waited for the answer, not realizing he was holding his breath in anticipation.

_Don't count on it_

"Will my father ever get out of Azkaban?"

_Ask again later_

"Will Potter defeat the Dark Lord ?"

_Ask again later_

He was becoming angry and he knew it. He knew he should just put the 8-ball back and keep on walking, but he just couldn't put it down.

"Will Mother be safe?"

_Ask again later_

With an angry growl he threw the orb as far away as he could. He could have thrown it to the ground and smashed it, but something told him that it would have just bounced back and broken his nose. At least throwing it with all his might allowed him to release some of the anger. If he could he would break everything inside of the room, but he knew better. Knew that in his rage he would do more damage than good and with his luck he would injure himself severely and no one would know where he was.

As he tried to control his breathing, he heard as the 8-ball bounced around the room before the sound of glass shattering reached his ears. The whole room seemed to know something bad just occurred and it was not happy. Gulping down the small fear that ran through his body, he made his way towards where he thought the sound had come from. When he finally reached it, he saw the 8-ball lying around the shattered remains of a vase made from what seemed like jade. With a grimace he picked up the 8-ball and took out his wand to repair the vase. He could have just left it as it was, but he had a feeling that the room wouldn't help him the next time he needed it. He didn't know how, but he was sure that the room had feelings and right now it was mighty ticked off that someone had broken something that belonged to it.

"Sorry. I'll be more careful next time, I promise."

The room seemed to accept his apology and the atmosphere lightened up. Shaking his head, he moved to place the 8-ball on top of a desk when something caught his eye.

There was a pull coming from behind some white sheets. It seemed it was a door or perhaps another wardrobe. But whatever it was, it was begging to be released. Slowly walking up to the artefact - wand held high in case something attacked- he pulled away the sheets. He never noticed his wand and the 8-ball falling from his hands.

Before him was a reflection of himself. But not as he was now, instead of how he was at the tender age of five. He wondered if he had truly been that small, he certainly didn't recall being so small. Looking above the mirror he noticed something inscribed onto it, "_erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi". _He didn't know what that meant or what language it was written in. All he knew though that it was no ordinary magic mirror. He continued to watch as his younger self sat on the floor playing with a toy dragon.

Vaguely he recalled that toy. It had been a Christmas present from his Godfather, Severus Snape. He remember that Father hadn't been too pleased with the gift. Calling it a commoners gift and unfit for the heir of the Malfoy fortune. The toy had been in his possession for less than a fortnight before Father had thrown it into the fire. Wanting to cry but knowing that it would earn him the thrashing of a lifetime, he simply stood still as he watched his father burn the only toy his Godfather had ever given him. It was the first time he had felt a small bit of hatred for his father. Obviously it hadn't been enough for him to remember it though. For he knew that later that night he was rapidly listening to the tales his father was telling him of the good old days when purebloods stood proudly over the filthy Mudbloods.

He wanted to look away, didn't want to see as his father took away the toy and destroyed it. Something held him though, he didn't know if it was the mirror's power or the room. Whatever it was, it was urging him to keep watching. Before long his father appeared, it wasn't the same man he remembered from that day, though. This man was smiling and seemed more open and caring. He watched as the man who looked as his father picked up the little boy and tickled him. Envy coursed through his body, his real father had never done that. As he continued to watch, he saw as father and son sat on the floor and continued to play with the toy dragon. The small boy's face was filled delight and adoration as he looked up to his father. Before long the mother walked into the room with a plate filled with fresh cookies. The small family sat together on the floor and continued to laugh and play.

And then, the mirror turned blank.

The anger was back and he didn't know what to do. His fist shaking in uncontrollable anger seemed to move on its own and before he knew it he was throwing himself against the mirror with a ferocious snarl, ready to destroy it with his bare hands. Seconds before his fists made contact, he stopped. Logic was asking him what good it would do to break the mirror. It wouldn't fix anything. All he could do was lean against the mirror and watch as the scene kept replaying itself over and over again. He never noticed as the tears fell from his eyes, never noticed as the sun went down and the darkness of the night took over.

Finally, after what seemed like days, he pulled away from the mirror. He felt sick; numb and ghost like. As he stumbled to the ground he laid there looking up at the room's ceiling. He thought nothing. There wasn't a single thought running through his mind. Focusing his eyes, he saw the 8-ball lying beside him. Why could anything ever go the way he wanted it? Why couldn't have the family he deserved? The only logical answer that he could think of was that it was all the Dark Lord's fault.

Gently picking it up, he shook it and asked his question.

_Signs point to yes_


End file.
